


bump in the night

by wincechesters



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Vampire Keith (Voltron), Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 18:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21286004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/pseuds/wincechesters
Summary: Shiro is on his way home from a semi-disastrous Halloween party when he meets Keith. Keith is gorgeous and fascinating, and he lets Shiro have his phone number. He also happens to be a vampire.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 244
Collections: Haunted VLD Exchange 2019





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sagely_sea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagely_sea/gifts).

> Written for sagely_sea for the vldexchange! They gave me the prompt “Keith has gotten himself into some trouble/mischief on Halloween and runs into Shiro. Shiro is a helpful guy and wants to assist Keith. It has totally nothing to do with the fact that he thinks the man is gorgeous. Plus points if one or both are supernatural in someway.” 
> 
> sagely, I had so much fun working on this prompt, and I think you might be a fellow Lotor fan so I had an absolute blast writing him into this universe as well. I really hope you enjoy it!
> 
> I decided to pick and choose my vampire lore, and I probably made some up, too. Absolutely none of it is of the Twilight variety.
> 
> Beta’d as always by my bestest Meg <3

"Wow, you're tall."

Shiro laughs uncomfortably and gently extracts himself from the arms of a cute, faux-freckled ragdoll. She's the third girl to try her luck with him at this Halloween party tonight, the first two being a cat complete with drawn on whiskers and black button nose, and the second some kind of Air Force pilot. That second one might have been right up his alley, with the aviators holding back the sweep of dark hair and a flatteringly tailored flight suit zipped down low. Might have been, if she had been a man, or if Shiro himself had been a lot more straight.

"Um, thanks." He pushes her gently but firmly away.

"You don't want to dance?"

He shakes his head, wincing. "Sorry. I'm, uh. I'm gay."

"That's okay!" she says, grinning up at him. Thankfully, she doesn't move to put her arms around him again. "We can still have fun!"

"Sorry," he says again, shrugging apologetically. He has to raise his voice to speak over the music, booming so loudly he can feel it in vibrating though the soles of his shoes, rattling his bones. The club is full to bursting and so far from anything resembling his scene. "I'm also a terrible dancer. I actually think I'm going to head out."

The ragdoll wrinkles her cute nose with its artfully drawn-on freckles, tossing a fire-engine red yarn braid over her shoulder. "Someone dragged you here, didn't they?"  
Shiro laughs, surprised. She’s perceptive and very clearly not be as drunk as his first two suitors.

"Got it in one." He scans the crowd, spotting a familiar head of unruly brown hair. "In fact, I think I see him right now. Excuse me."

He manages to extricate himself from the ragdoll, and makes his way with some difficulty to Matt's side, skirting the packed dance floor on his way.

"Shiro!" Matt crows, throwing an arm around his shoulders. The move throws him off, tilting him awkwardly off-axis given his much shorter height, but it’s never stopped him before, and it doesn’t now, either. "There you are."

"You abandoned me," Shiro retorts. "And you lied to me."

"I did not lie," Matt says, "This place is bumping! I may have… left out some information, but—"

Shiro raises one sardonic eyebrow. "You mean the part about it being the most heterosexual place in the city?"

Matt winces. "Yeah, sorry about that, bro."

"I'm out of here."

"Aw, come on, party pooper. What am I going to do without my wingman?"

Shiro shakes his head with a wry smile, prying his friend's arm from around his shoulders. This place is too much; a cacophony of music and drunken shouts, the rank smell of alcohol and sweaty bodies an assault on his senses, and his prosthetic is starting to ache where it's strapped to his arm. "You seemed to be doing just fine. You stay. Have a good time. Good luck with—" he tilts his head in the direction of the objectively beautiful woman who Matt had been attempting to catch the eye of. "I'll see you at work on Monday."

"Fine, fine." Matt uses his hold around Shiro's shoulders to pull himself upward, planting a messy and altogether too-wet kiss on Shiro’s cheek. "I love you! Text me when you get home!"

Shiro rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Love you too, buddy. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

“Shiro, you're gay. If I followed that advice, I'd be in big trouble with the ladies."

"Oh my god, shut the fuck up," Shiro chuckles, and pushes Matt—gently—away.

The cool night air is a relief on his overheated, sticky skin when he finally makes it out the door, breaking free of the swell of sound and crush of bodies inside the club. His breath escapes his mouth in a curl of steam and he zips his coat closed against the chill that threatens to freeze the sweat that had gathered in the small of his back. He glances up and down the street, mentally rifling through his options—the bus would be his normal go-to in this situation, but he's honestly too tired to navigate the frankly terrible transit system this time of night.

His luck seems like it might be turning when a cab pulls up just down from the club entrance, three Halloween-attired girls spilling out of it onto the street. "Hold up," he calls, jogging the few steps as they pay the driver, and slips into the door left open by the last former occupant of the cab.

Shiro starts to rattle off his address, but he cuts himself off abruptly as the door opposite him jerks open, and someone else throws themself inside.

"Uh," he says, blinking in surprise. "Occupied?"

The new inhabitant of the cab meets his gaze, eyes wide under thick brows and an unruly fall of shiny, dark hair. "Shit," he says, his voice low and smoky and crackling a little bit with strain. "Shit, sorry."

His chest is heaving almost as though he's trying to catch his breath. Had he been running? He turns away, looking back out the window, his hand moving to the latch on the door. He stills, something outside the car catching his eye, and then slowly pulls his hand away from the door.

"So, this might be a weird request. But I need to—be somewhere other than here. Can we share a cab?"

Shiro rubs tiredly at his jaw. He's tired, and he's not in the mood to deal with any more weird strangers tonight, but there's something about this guy—something that has absolutely nothing to do with how cute he is. Shiro casts a furtive glance at the man sitting across from him, one leg braced against the seat so he's turned to face Shiro, the lithe line of his body under a worn leather jacket, the dip of his collarbones exposed by the neck of his black t-shirt. His eyes are big and dark as they stare unblinkingly across the seat at Shiro.

"Where are you going?" Shiro asks, feeling himself begin to cave.

The guy brightens. "East side," he says, his mouth tugging up in a hopeful smile that sets Shiro's heart pounding inside his chest.

"Guys," the cab driver says, turning to look over his shoulder at them, exasperation in every line of his weathered face. "We going somewhere or not? I don't have all night."

Shiro makes a choice. "Yeah. Drop him off first, then you can drop me." He flicks a glance at the other occupant of the cab. "That okay?"

"Absolutely," the guy says. "Thanks man."

Shiro shakes his head. "It's nothing." Then, on a truly ridiculous whim, he sticks out his hand. "Shiro."

The guy stares incredulously from his face to his hand and back again. “You aren’t seriously introducing yourself to the guy who just hijacked your ride.”

Shiro looks down at his own hand, then back up at his cab-mate. “So what if I am?”

The man shakes his head. His hair is long in the back and around his angled face, brushing the collar of his worn leather jacket as he moves. “You don’t want to get to know me.”

“What if I do?” Shiro says. He waits.

The corner of the man’s lip ticks up again, amusement lighting up his face in a way that settles warm in Shiro's belly. He reaches out a hand, fingers slender and elegant, and clasps Shiro's. His grip is firm and he gives a squeeze as he shakes Shiro’s hand.

"Keith," he says, as the cab pulls away from the curb.

"Keith," Shiro repeats, tasting the name. It suits him, somehow, even though that's a name he thought reserved for old white guys, not young, pretty, dangerous-looking bad boys. "Nice to meet you."

"Likewise." His eyes, bright even in the semi-dark as they roll down the streetlamp-lit streets, flick over Shiro, appraising. "Rough night?"

Shiro huffs a laugh. "You could say that. I'm not really into the club scene anymore." He hesitates, then continues. "My friend dragged me out. What about you?"

Keith chuckles once, mirthless, his mouth twisting wryly. "Yeah, something like that."

"So, uh." Shiro starts, awkward as always. "Have you lived in the city long?" He winces internally. He's never been good at small talk, especially when the guy he's talking to is as cute as Keith is.

Keith seems to take pity on him however. "New in town, actually. Just moved in last week." There's amusement in the lines of his face, but it's not mocking. "What about you?"

"I moved here about ten years ago; University, and then work."

"Where are you from originally?"

He finds with surprise, that conversation flows easily with Keith. He's a man of few words, but what he does say has impact, and he listens raptly as Shiro talks. It's dangerous; it has Shiro running his mouth, until he's somehow going on about his terrible evening out.

Keith laughs, and the sound settles warm in Shiro's belly. "Now I understand why you were in such a hurry to get out of there. Most people would've called an Uber, you know."

Shiro reaches out to shove playfully at Keith's shoulder, his hand encountering taut muscle under warm leather. "Okay, now you're starting to sound like my friends. Soon you'll be calling me 'old man' just like the rest of them. Besides, you grabbed the same cab as me!"

"You're not old," Keith scoffs.

"Older than you," Shiro teases. "I guess it's the white hair. Makes me look older than I am."

Keith's gaze turns appraising and Shiro feels his skin heat under the weight of that steady gaze. He gets the distinct impression that he's being checked out and tries not to preen.

“You’re not old,” Keith says again, “trust me. And you look good.”

Shiro’s mouth falls open, feeling heat creep up into his ears. He hopes it’s dark enough inside the cab that Keith can’t see it, but from the way Keith’s grin slides into a smirk, he thinks maybe he’s lost that one.

“You’re cute,” Keith says, smiling toothily, which only makes Shiro blush harder.

“O-oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” The cab slows to a stop, the squeak of the car’s neglected brakes shaking them loose from each other’s gazes. Keith glances out the window of the cab, towards a small house, dark and shadowed outside of the column of yellow light cast by the street lamp they’re parked under.

“Well, bye Shiro. Thanks for letting me crash your ride.” He opens the door, sliding out of the car with a lithe grace. The crackled leather upholstery squeaks its protest as he moves.

“Wait!”

Keith pauses, turning back to look into the cab, one hand braced on the roof and the other on the door as he bends at the waist. His bangs fall into his face, brushing the bridge of his nose as he stares back at Shiro, curious. “Yeah?”

Shiro swallows, and steadfastly ignores the sighs of their beleaguered cab driver. “I don’t normally do this, but. Can I have your phone number?”

Keith inhales sharply. His eyes bore into Shiro’s across the fading leather of the backseat, considering. “I shouldn’t,” he says slowly.

“Okay,” Shiro says. He forces himself to smile, ignoring his disappointment. “No hard feelings.”

Keith hesitates for a moment longer. He glances over his shoulder to the house and then back into the cab. He reaches out a hand towards Shiro. “Give me your phone.”

Shiro blinks. “Really?”

“Yeah really,” Keith says, his mouth curling into a lopsided smile. He makes a grabbing motion with his hand and chuckles when Shiro slips his phone into it.

When he hands it back, there’s a new contact on the screen. Shiro grins.

“I’ll call you.”

“You’d better,” Keith says gruffly, but he grins, almost shy. “See you later, Shiro.” And then he’s gone, shutting the cab door behind him and shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket as he disappears into the dark.

Shiro sighs, smiling helplessly as the car pulls away from the curb. Looks like his Halloween luck is turning around.


	2. Chapter 2

Keith wakes up the next evening with a buzzing in his ears, a hollow ache in his stomach, and Lotor looming over him like a particularly judgmental birch tree, arms crossed over his broad chest as he stares down at Keith's miserable form.

Keith lets out a sound like _mrgghhh_ and swats at him, missing pathetically. His hand flops down on the bed with a dull thump. Lotor cocks one perfectly manicured white eyebrow and huffs.

"You look an absolute mess," he says blandly. "When was the last time you fed?"

Keith ignores him, pushing himself into a semi-upright position with a groan. "What are you doing here?"

"How nice," Lotor says, freeing one hand to idly inspect his own nails. The eyebrow still hasn't made its way down from its lofty perch. "I come all the way out here to this nowhere city to visit you and this is how you receive me. What a way to treat your oldest and dearest friend."

"Oldest, anyway," Keith retorts. He scrapes a hand through the bedraggled mess of his hair. He's still in the clothes he'd come home in yesterday, wrinkles in the fabric of his t-shirt and his leather jacket inside out and lying hastily discarded next to Lotor's foot.

"Had I known you would be in this state I would have brought you something to drink," Lotor says. "What have you been doing, if you haven't been hunting?"

"Avoiding getting lynched by the local pack," Keith retorts, shoving past his friend and staggering to the bathroom. He flicks on the light, wincing as it pierces his skull. He splashes water on his face, glancing up at the mirror which remains, expectedly, empty of his reflection.

Lotor, unfortunately, follows him to the bathroom. "How long have you been here and you've already managed to attract the attention of those mongrels? You're losing your edge."

Keith turns around to glare at him. "Can you please let me wake up a little before you needle me?"

Lotor throws his hands up in surrender. "I'll just wait in the sitting room, shall I?"

Keith grunts and shuts the bathroom door in his face.

A few minutes later, slightly less bleary-eyed and his hair combed to the best of his ability given the uselessness of reflective surfaces, Keith reappears to find Lotor thumbing through an outdated newspaper from last week that Keith had left lying on his battered coffee table. He looks irritatingly well-groomed as always, his lustrous white hair settled over his shoulders as though carefully arranged, and Keith wonders if that was in fact, exactly how it had happened. For someone with the same lack of access to mirrors, Lotor still somehow manages to look as though he'd spent several hours grooming as he had while he was alive.

Lotor looks up from the newspaper as Keith flings himself into an armchair opposite him. "Am I permitted to speak now?"

"Whatever, go ahead."

"'Hello Lotor, lovely to see you, Lotor,'" Lotor intones. "Would you like to tell me how you managed to offend the local wolves on your first week in town? And while you're at it, perhaps you can explain why you look like you're bordering on anemic at present?"

Keith rolls his eyes. "I haven't fed in a while, okay? I went out last night—"

"On Halloween," Lotor interrupts. "How very cliché of you."

"I was hungry. And you know as well as I do that it's the perfect opportunity."

Lotor inclines his head, conceding. "People everywhere in costumes, drunk, wandering around outside…"

"Exactly." Keith crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back into the curve of the dilapidated chair. "Anyway, the wolves here are smarter than back home. They were on the hunt, too."

He was careful, he knew he was careful. He'd disguised his scent, done the requisite seducing before leading his prey into a dark and deserted alley way. He'd been running his tongue over the line of their throat, feeling the heat of their carotid washing over his tongue and his aching, exposed fangs, when he'd smelled it—the reeking, wet-dog scent of a changed werewolf at the other end of the alley.

He'd been so hungry, so, so hungry, it was all he could do to pry himself away from the person he'd glamoured, darting back down the alley with a furious snarl on his heels. Then there was another wolf on him and this one he'd only narrowly avoided by leaping onto a fire escape. He was weak from hunger, his reflexes and senses slower than usual, and it had been the closest call he'd had in decades. He was stupid, he knew he was stupid for letting his hunger get this far, and he'd almost lost his un-life because of it.

Except he'd managed to see that cab… the cab that had contained Shiro.

"What is happening with your face right now?" Lotor interrupts his story, leaning forward, his blue eyes narrowing as he scrutinizes Keith from across the room.

"What—nothing!"

"Your face did something strange when you mentioned catching a taxi." Lotor's eyes dart to the coffee table between them, his expression going dangerously sly. "Does this have anything to do with the unknown number that's had your phone vibrating off the table since I've been here?"

Keith should be embarrassed by how quickly he snatches the phone from the table, especially with the way Lotor snorts derisively.

_hey keith!_ the first message reads. Then another, _do you want to hang out tonight?_

Keith smiles as he thumbs through the messages. There's a fourth, and a fifth: _I know I'm supposed to wait to ask for a couple days, but I'd really like to get to know you_, and _uh, this is shiro, btw._

"Well. That's a soppy expression if I've ever seen one," Lotor comments dryly. "Maybe you won't be going hungry for long, after all."

"I'm not going to _feed_ from Shiro," Keith growls, scrolling through the array of messages.

"Shiro, so it has a name."

Keith rolls his eyes, his gaze still on his phone. "Why are you here, again?"

"To make sure you're eating, for one. And it's a good thing too; you look like you're about to waste away in front of me. Your mother is worried about you, out here on your own. I still don't know why you had to leave in the first place; our coven was perfectly established and treaties already worked out with the local dogs."

Keith glances up, and though Lotor is busily flipping through the newspaper again, he can read between the lines. His mother isn't the only one who's worried about him, it seems. And they both know Krolia would have come out herself, had she been worried enough.

"You can tell _my mom_ that I'm fine."

Lotor tilts his head towards the ceiling, his eyes rolling up in that familiar expression Keith knows means _lord, give me strength_. Pretentious bastard, he thinks, a little fondly.

"At least promise me you'll feed tonight. I know you hate hunting humans, but you really must. You look like you're about to fall into your grave."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Keith retorts, garnering a snort from his friend.

"The next time might be permanent." Lotor eyes him seriously. "Keith."

"Yeah okay, fine."

Lotor nods sharply, pushing himself to his feet. He's so tall, Keith thinks irritably as he gets to his own feet. "I'll leave you to your snack then," Lotor says, eyeing the phone in Keith's hand, and Keith feels as though he would be blushing, were his blood vessels still capable of such a reaction. Lotor doesn't know how true his words are—Shiro had been beautiful, broad and fit and chiseled and—

"Please don't moon like that in front of me," Lotor says dryly, shaking Keith from his thoughts, his mouth twisted into an expression of mild distaste. "You'll put me off my own dinner."

"Fuck you," Keith grumbles, and Lotor just huffs an amused laugh.

"Well, I'll take my leave," Lotor says, sweeping towards the door and somehow managing to make it look dramatic. Keith thinks, not for the first time, that his friend belongs back in the ages of waistcoats and cravats and capes. "Happy hunting. Try not to run afoul of any mongrels this time."

"Good_bye_, Lotor," Keith says, and Lotor waggles his fingers at him teasingly over his shoulder without looking back, before slipping out of the front door, the muted click of the doorknob the only sound of his passing.

He waits until he's sure Lotor is gone before turning back to his phone, an involuntary smile ticking up the corner of his mouth as he scrolls through Shiro's litany of messages. It shouldn't be cute, the quintuple texting, but somehow it is, especially when Keith remembers the awkward yet sincere way Shiro had asked him for his phone number the night before.

_Sorry_, he texts back, finally. _Just woke up_.

The reply comes just a few seconds later and Keith huffs a laugh at Shiro's eagerness. _hey! No problem_. Then another: _you work nights?_

Something like that, Keith thinks wryly, typing out an affirmative instead. _what about you?_

_unfortunately an early riser :((_

"Cute," Keith chuckles to himself, scooping his keys off the side table and moving to tug on his boots. And if he texts Shiro, smiling, all the way out the door and down to the street, well, Lotor's not here to mock him for it.

*****

The night is crisp and cool, but not overly so, the sky clear up above him and dotted with stars. The streetlights dampen their light the further Keith gets to the heart of the city, but at least there's no full moon; he'd been careful enough to check that before planning his first hunts in the new city. His motorcycle tucks neatly away down one of the darker alleys, the shadows swallowing the vibrant red he couldn’t help but fall in love with when he’d picked it out. Time eventually becomes irrelevant to a vampire, but he thinks it was only a few years ago he purchased it, and it had come with him to this small city when he’d struck out from his coven on his own.

He tucks his hands into his pockets as he strolls down the street, his body aching with hunger that he pushes aside. The smell of the city is dank with mildew and the rotting remnants of food, though less so than the place he had come from, and the further he gets to the city center, the more that smell is clogged with the warm smell of human blood, of body heat, of thumping hearts and pulsing veins.

There are still those vampires out there who live by the old ways, taking what they want with no regard for the lives they take. Keith's coven is old, long-civilized and even longer-established. They don't kill anymore, know how to glamour their prey enough to take a sip and nothing more, enough to satiate the hunger and move them along to the next, but not enough to spark suspicion or endanger the prey.

His phone is warm against his thigh where he's shoved it in his pocket as he strategically avoids the glances of the group of women who are eyeing him speculatively from across the bar he's parked himself in. He knows how people see him: pale skin and large dark eyes and wild hair that is almost too lustrous with his undead energy, shining even in the dim, unflattering lights of the bar. He had been okay looking as a human, he supposes, but vampirism is kind to even the most ordinary of people, at least when it comes to physical beauty.

His mouth waters with the smells of the humans around him, and Lotor is right; it's been far too long since he last fed. The girls are giggling—talking about him, he notes, his sharp hearing picking out their voices from the cacophony of sound around him. One of the bolder ones detaches herself from the pack, to a riot of new giggles and hushed cheers, and he draws in a deep breath of that warm, living scent, listening to her approach.

He can feel the heat of her body as she reaches him, the scent almost overwhelming, and he's about to turn to meet her gaze when he feels his phone vibrate against his thigh.

Keith freezes, his attention wrenched from his prospective prey. Dimly he's aware that she's speaking to him, but he only reaches into his pocket, pulling out his phone to see an incoming call.

<Shiro</i>, the display reads, and if Keith didn't know that his heart was incapable of such things, he would have sworn it skipped a beat.

He manages to get the phone up to his ear, barely registering the disappointment of the girl who veers away from him. "Hello?"

"Keith?"

"Hey, Shiro. Just—one second, it's a little loud in here—"

Keith weaves his way out of the bar, slipping out to the quieter street. "Hey, sorry."

"You're out again?" Shiro laughs, his voice low and a little husky and setting something warm twisting in the pit of Keith's stomach. "Oh no, are you a party guy? This relationship is already doomed."

Keith scoffs, ignoring the thrill that goes though him at Shiro’s words. "Hardly. Just wanted to… get out," he finishes lamely.

Shiro hums. "You didn't tell me if you were free tonight," he accuses, teasingly.

Keith rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. "Yeah, sorry about that."

There's silence, then an awkward cough, before Shiro says. "Well, are you? It's okay if you aren't, but the offer's still on the table if you—"

"I'm free," Keith says, and curses himself as soon as the words are out of his mouth. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a little voice that sounds like Lotor is chiding him, reminding him that he needs to eat. _One more night_, he reasons with himself. _I can go one more night._ "Where are we going?"

"Really?" Shiro's voice brightens noticeably and Keith can't bring himself to doubt his decision any longer. He can hear the smile in Shiro's voice, imagine how it would brighten his handsome face. He wants to see it. "There’s this place—it’s probably decorated all dorky for Halloween still but it’s adults only at night and it’s a good time. How do you feel about go-kart racing?"

Keith's mouth curls into a slow smile. "I feel like you better get ready to have your ass kicked, Old Man."

"We'll see about that," Shiro teases back, and the heat in Keith's stomach flares higher.

Shiro gives him directions and Keith should be embarrassed by how quickly he makes his way back to his bike. He’s been round for two hundred—three hundred?—years now, and vampires are meant to be suave, he thinks, or so Lotor would no doubt have him believe. They’re also not meant to be so drawn to mortals in a way that isn’t looking for their next meal or their next fuck or _both_, but Keith has never been one to stick to the rules.

As he leans into the curve of the road leading out to the open stretch of land occupied by the amusement park which houses the go-kart track, he thinks that maybe it’s in his blood to be contrary. His mother, after all, had fallen for a human, too.

Despite the late hour, the parking lot is near full, the sound of excited laughter and revving engines and pumping hearts throbbing in Keith’s ears when the sound of his own engine cuts out. Strings of orange lights shaped like pumpkins are draped haphazardly over the gate surrounding the entrance, fake gravestones standing up in the lawn to one side and a truly awful statue of a mummy on the other. The scent of humanity grows stronger the closer he gets to the gate, washing over him and filling his mouth with saliva. His stomach twinges, empty and hungry, and his hands curl into tight fists at his side as he breathes through it.

_This was a stupid idea_, he curses himself, flicking a gaze over his shoulder back to his bike, struggling with the conflicting urge to flee, or to rush into the crowd and wreak havoc on this unassuming crowd of revelers. He can just imagine the headlines the next day: _MASSACRE AT AMUSEMENT PARK SHOCKS CITY_. He’s sure Lotor would have a field day with that one… that is, if Keith lived through the local werewolf pack’s justice to see it.

He’s just about to force himself to turn back to his bike, to cancel on Shiro, when the man himself straightens up from where he’d been leaning up against the gate, his shadow stretching all the way over to where Keith is frozen in the middle of the parking lot.

“Keith?”

“Hey,” Keith manages to rasp out and somehow manages to force himself forward. His inner Lotor is yelling at him about how stupid he is, how he should’ve fed before putting himself in such close proximity to so many humans, much less to this particular one, whom he’s inexplicably attracted to. But he can’t make himself turn away now, not with Shiro smiling brightly but somehow almost shyly down at him, the orange glow of the pumpkin lights reflecting off his white hair and hooking into the sharp angle of that strong, handsome jaw.

“Hey. Glad you could make it.” Shiro shuffles, a little awkwardly. First date jitters, maybe? Is this even a date? Keith has no idea. “Have you ever driven a go-kart before?”

“Never,” Keith says.

“I saw that motorcycle you rode in on, so I’m sure this will be pretty dull in comparison,” Shiro says, turning to lead him into the park. “But I promise they’re really fun.”

Shiro insists on paying for the both of them, flicking a sweet glance at Keith that makes Keith wonder even more strongly if this might actually be a date. When was the last time he went on a date? He frowns to himself. Has he ever been on a date? Has he ever _wanted_ to go on a date?

“Keith, you okay?”

Keith jerks himself out of his reverie. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He forces a smile, looking up—and up, and up—at Shiro. Damn, he’s tall. And so, so broad. “Are you ready to get your ass kicked?”

Shiro chuckles. “I think I should be asking you that.” He leads Keith through the park, and Keith does his best to hold his breath, focusing on what Shiro’s telling him about this park, the first time he visited, how well he knows the owner now after years of patronage. The heat of human bodies washes over him along with their scent, but Keith finds it’s easy to focus on Shiro, to tune them all out. Slowly, he relaxes.

The go-karts are old, and they look too small for someone as big as Shiro to sit in, but somehow he manages. The helmets and goggles are about as dorky as they come, but Shiro manages to make it look cute, especially folded into the tiny kart with his knees up around his elbows. Keith tells him so, and is rewarded when Shiro’s face lights up with a flush that just makes him look even cuter.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he says, and reaches across the space between their two karts to tease the ends of Keith’s unruly hair, showing from under the helmet and brushing the shoulder of his leather jacket, with his finger. There’s that feeling in Keith’s chest again; not the thumping of his heart, but the strange, lurching absence of it as though it should be turning over in his chest or filling up with butterflies.

Shiro revs his engine and Keith laughs and copies him, edging the kart up to the starting line. Shiro shoots him a wink that Keith returns with a toothy grin, and then the light turns green and they’re off, tires squeaking against the asphalt as the little karts dart onto the track.

The kart is nothing like his bike; it’s unruly and the steering is terrible and the brakes too sensitive. Shiro pulls ahead of him in no time, zipping around the track with practiced ease, distracting Keith with watching how easily he handles the unwieldy vehicle. Keith on the other hand, manages to crash into no less than three tire barriers, and it’s a full ten seconds before he crosses the finish line of the winding track after Shiro.

“Sorry ‘bout your luck,” Shiro says, a shit-eating grin on his face that Keith wants to wipe off with a kiss.

He scowls to keep from doing something stupid and says, “Do over.”

Keith loses the next round and then the third as well. By the fourth he’s got the hang of it, and manages to zip around Shiro’s kart, beating him by a fraction of a second. The next one Shiro stops holding back, as Keith realizes he has been, and that’s when it _really_ gets fun.

He laughs as they chase each other around the track, blocking each other and zipping at faster and faster speeds around the curves. Shiro beats him a handful more times, but on the last round, Keith pulls off a maneuver that sends him rocketing around Shiro whose kart has been forced into the barrier. He thinks maybe Shiro will be pissed by the time he crosses the finish line, long after Keith, but instead he’s laughing, his smile luminous and eyes bright.

“Damn you can drive,” Shiro says, prying himself out of the vehicle and reaching to help Keith out of his. His grin is huge, splitting his face and blinding Keith with its brightness. “Maybe we can come back so you can kick my ass again sometime, Hot Shot.”

Shiro tugs him up out of the kart, and Keith’s foot, ungainly from the weakness brought on by his empty stomach and his unintentional hunger strike, catches on the rim of the cart. He stumbles, falling against Shiro’s chest, and sucking in a shocked, unintentional breath.

Shiro’s scent washes over him like a tidal wave. There’s the smell of the leather jacket he’s wearing, the cologne he’d dabbed sparingly against his neck, and underneath, clean sweat, and the hot, vital scent of him. It’s mouthwatering, and Keith, as hungry as he is, as charmed by this man and drawn to him like he hadn’t been to any for as long as he can remember, caught in Shiro’s bright gaze, hand in his and the heat of him pressed up against Keith’s whole body, lunges forward.

His mouth finds Shiro’s clumsily at first, Keith’s lips glancing awkwardly off of Shiro’s broad smile. Shiro stills, shocked, and then his free hand is curling around Keith’s waist, drawing him closer and correcting the trajectory until their mouths meet properly, sliding together like they belong.

One kiss turns into two, turns into three, and then they’re making out right there in the middle of the park. Someone whistles, and someone else giggles, and Shiro pulls back sheepishly. Keith feels himself bristle, half a mind to snarl at whoever has the audacity to break up what had been the start of something very, very good, but Shiro just takes his hand, dragging him away into the shadow of one of the buildings. There’s an inflatable skeleton at the mouth of the space, lit from the inside and casting a dim white light that doesn’t quite reach the spot where Shiro stops, turning to face Keith with something sweet and playful and hungry in his eyes.

“Is this okay?” Shiro asks, pressing him backwards with his body until Keith feels his back make contact with the cool concrete of the building’s wall.

He nods eagerly, tilting his head up to receive Shiro’s next kiss, opening his mouth to Shiro’s tongue. He shouldn’t be okay with this, should feel trapped and caught or at the very least like he should flip them around, but he doesn’t. Shiro’s body is warm against his cooler one, every inch of him hard with muscle, radiating heat and pushing Keith up against the wall in the most blissful press. His mouth is hot, tongue sliding along Keith’s. His hands—one cool prosthetic and the other warm flesh—reaching up to rake through his hair, catching and tugging in a way that makes Keith gasp.

He’s reduced down to need, to instinct, his hips tilting to meet the press of Shiro’s, a groan edging its way out of his throat when he feels what he’s sure is the beginning of an erection not his own against his thigh. He clutches at Shiro’s shoulders, gasping into Shiro’s mouth and swallowing Shiro’s groans. He can feel the thud of Shiro’s heart against his chest, _thump, thump_, slow but insistent and—

Shiro draws back, ducking his head to kiss along the angle of Keith’s jaw, into the curve of Keith’s neck. Keith’s finds his face buried in the arch of Shiro’s throat, his mouth pressing to the stretch of warm, fragrant skin there. His lips part of their own accord, a ragged breath sucking in through his teeth and the scent of Shiro washes over him, heavy and intoxicating and far, far too close. He feels his fangs _snick_ free, the sharp points pressing into the flesh of his bottom lip as he drags his open mouth over Shiro’s carotid, feeling it flex against his lips.

He realizes what he’s doing with a start, feels his lips draw back from his teeth without his permission. His hands are claws in the shoulders of Shiro’s jacket, and he forces himself to loosen them, using the leverage to shove Shiro away from him instead, slapping a hand over his own mouth.

Shiro staggers back, a soft, surprised cry pried loose from his mouth as he slams into a stack of wooden pallets. “Keith?” He says, the sound shocked and wounded. “Are you okay? I didn’t—shit I’m sorry, I—”

Keith shakes his head frantically. He can feel his eyes are wide. “Not you,” he manages to choke out, and his desire to get as far away from Shiro as fast as possible wars loudly with his desire to leap across the narrow space between them, to corner Shiro up against the wall and take and take.

He really should not have come out tonight. He should have fed, taken his safe little sips until he was sated. It would have been enough to tide him over for a long time, but his impatience to see Shiro had gotten the better of him. Stupid, _stupid_.

“Keith?” Shiro asks again, and he steps closer. Keith is still frozen, his muscles tensed to run. He has no fight or flight response—dead people don’t have adrenaline—but instinct is a powerful thing, and it holds him frozen, the two warring halves of him battling.

“I should go,” Keith chokes out around his own hand. He can feel the curve of his elongated canines pressing into the palm of his hand.

“You don’t have to—” Shiro freezes. His eyes flick from Keith’s eyes, to the palm of his hand. Slowly, deliberately, he inhales, drawing in a deep, deep breath—and Keith’s scent. His eyes, when they meet Keith’s again, glow with an inhuman, yellow light.

Keith’s heart plummets.

“Vampire,” Shiro says, his voice distorting, and Keith watches in horror as hair starts to spread from Shiro’s head down the side of his face, his skull lengthening and claws sprouting from his fingers. This boy he’s been so drawn to, who’d charmed him like no one else in his long, long life, is a werewolf.

Keith turns tail and runs.


	3. Chapter 3

Shiro starts to change before he can stop himself, his body reacting to the sudden shock of realizing that Keith—the sweet, awkward, dangerously hot boy he’d been making out with not thirty seconds before—was a vampire. It’s been a long time since he’d changed against his will when it wasn’t a full moon, but his instincts took over the second the dots had connected.

Keith is gone before he even manages to get himself under control, the faint scent of him, awakened by their proximity and the heat of their passion, swept away by the wind as he disappears. Distantly, Shiro hears the revving of his bike, the churning of gravel as he takes off, too fast, back onto the highway and away from here.

Shiro forces himself to breathe, squeezing his eyes shut as he wrestles his wolf under control. Slowly, the claws retract, his bones rearranging back to their original positions. His eyesight returns to normal, woefully human, and he’s left breathing hard, leaning up against the side of the building.

“Fuck,” he breathes to himself, one fist pounding on the wall behind him. He doesn’t know how he managed to miss the scent of vampire on Keith. Some of his packmates had reported trailing an unfamiliar vamp last night, but he’d never thought to imagine—what a laughable coincidence that he would cross paths with the new vampire in town, and somehow manage to fall for him, all in the space of two evenings.

It would be naive to assume that Keith was harmless. Most vampires are, these days, but there are some that still leave bodies in their wake, draining people dry for the sheer thrill of the kill. But Shiro knows, somehow, deep inside that Keith isn’t one of them. Shiro had been at his most vulnerable, mid-change, unable to defend himself as his body did its level best to turn him almost inside out, and Keith hadn’t attacked. If he had, he could have taken Shiro out easily, and no one would have been the wiser. No witnesses.

But he didn’t. Instead he’d run.

And Shiro wants to believe in Keith.

He fishes his phone out of his back pocket. _keith_, he types into a new message. _i’m sorry._

_can we talk?_

He tries a phone call next, but it rings and rings with no answer, not even a voicemail message with a recording of Keith’s low, husky voice to reassure him.

He makes his way out of the park and back to his car, pulling slowly out of the parking lot and towards home, as if driving slowly would somehow bring Keith back to him. By the time he lets himself into his apartment, his texts are still unanswered, so he sends another. _call me when you get this. i promise i don’t want to hurt you._

He collapses into bed and falls into a fitful sleep, his phone still clutched in his hand.

*****

When Shiro wakes the next morning, it’s to the angry buzzing of his phone next to his head. It takes him a moment to place the noise, and then he’s snatching it off the mattress and sitting bolt upright, blinking to clear his gaze so he can see the contact on his screen.

Matt’s grinning face stares back at him, a photo taken during their wild college days. Shiro’s heart sinks when he realizes it’s not Keith returning his call, before he realizes that the sun is glaring down at him through his open blinds, and Keith must no doubt be asleep. Because Keith is a vampire, he reminds himself dully, swallowing down the lump in the back of his throat as he swipes to accept the incoming call.

“Hey, hey, how’d your date go, Shirogane?”

Shiro sighs. “Good morning, Matt.”

“Don’t avoid the question,” Matt barks at him. “You're ignoring the pack chat and I want the dirty deets.”

“You know for a supposedly straight man, you certainly have an unhealthy obsession with my sex life,” Shiro comments, groaning as he climbs out of bed. His neck is sore from his fitful sleep, and he stretches it to the side, wincing at the pull of his muscles against the motion.

“I have a vested interest in your happiness,” Matt corrects. “Quit stalling.”

Shiro rakes a hand through his hair. “The date was amazing. I really like him, but then we kissed—”

Matt’s cheer interrupts him. “Shiro! On the first date? Atta boy! But wait." There's a pause, and Shiro can imagine him puzzling it out. "Why do you sound like someone just told you that space is a lie and the earth really is flat?"

“We kissed,” Shiro repeats, “but then he… his _fangs_ came out.” He’s met with dead silence and elaborates, “Because he’s a _vampire_.”

More silence, then: “What the _fuck_, dude?”

“I know. Keith’s a _vampire_.”

“Jesus, man, you sure can pick ‘em.” Matt whistles lowly. “So you took this guy you like on this sickeningly romantic date. You get to first base with him and then you give him a vampire boner—”

“Matt, please,” Shiro protests, feeling his ears go red with an embarrassed flush.

“—and then what? Please don’t tell me you bashed your date’s face in or something equally awful.”

“No, I—” Shiro grimaces. “He surprised me and I… started to shift.”

A pause, and then Matt laughs humorlessly. “Wow. That’s a mood killer.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. But Matt, he could have killed me. You know how vulnerable we are in the first moments of the change.”

“Yeah, our entire skeletons rearranging themselves and insides practically becoming outsides will do that to a person.”

“And he must be old if he can mask his scent like he did. I had no idea.” Shiro sighs, flopping back on the bed. “But he didn’t… he didn’t hurt me at all; he just ran. He’s a good guy, Matt, I know it.”

Matt is silent for so long that Shiro pulls the phone away from his ear to glance at the screen, making sure it’s still connected. “Matt?”

“Well, if you want my opinion—”

“I’m not sure I do,” Shiro grumbles, but Matt ignores him.

“If you want my opinion, if you like this guy it shouldn’t matter that he’s a vamp. Equal rights for all monsters. Marriage equality and all that.”

Shiro rolls his eyes, ignoring the way his stomach fills with butterflies. “You think?”

“Yeah! It’s not the nineteenth century anymore, dude. Go get your mans.”

“What about…” Shiro trails off. “Don’t you think I need to set an example? As the Pack Leader.”

“Shiro, you’re the most inspirational person I know,” Matt says matter-of-factly. “My dad thinks so, our whole pack thinks so, even _Pidge_ thinks so, and you know how she is. We’ll back you up. If anyone has an issue with it we’ll tell them it’s for diplomatic relations. Allura’s always going on about that sort of thing, anyway. And then if they still have a problem, you can beat the crap out of them.”

“Matt,” Shiro chuckles.

“Seriously, dude. You’re the one always telling us we can be whatever we want to be. If you like this guy, don’t let him being the wrong kind of monster stand in your way.”

“Wow,” Shiro says. “You should be in an after school special.”

“Shut the fuck up, Loverboy,” Matt says. “I’m hanging up now. And if you don’t text me tomorrow to tell me you made up with Hot Vamp Dude, I’m going to come over there and kick your ass.”

“You can try,” Shiro retorts, but he’s grinning. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Hey, what kind of Beta would I be if I wasn’t here to give the boss some inspiration once in a while.”

“Bye, Matt,” Shiro says, and hangs up.

*****

Waiting for the sun to set is excruciating. Shiro takes a shower, cleans his apartment, scrolls through his phone again and again, continuing to ignore the pack chat and frowning at the lack of messages from Keith, even though he knows Keith must be asleep. Do vampires wake up exactly when the sun disappears below the horizon? He’s heard tell of the older, more powerful ones being able to wake up before the sun has completely set. Is Keith one of those? He has so many questions and all he wants is a chance to ask them.

He’s out the door as soon as the street lamps flicker to life, the shadows lengthening and swallowing up the streets. He remembers the way to Keith’s home and makes his way with his heart in his throat.

When Shiro reaches the house, he sees Keith’s shiny red motorcycle parked out front, sandwiched in by a car that is far too fancy for the neighborhood they’re in. He makes his way up the walk, glancing automatically into the shadows, his wolf senses on high alert.

His fist on the door sounds with a hollow rap, echoing the furious thud of his heart. He waits.

Suddenly the door bursts open and a blow catches him on the chest that sends him flying backwards, slamming into the trunk of the old oak that occupies one side of the leaf-strewn lawn. A snarl bursts out of him, his lips curling back from his teeth as he takes in the tall vampire glaring imperiously down at him from the steps to Keith’s home. His dark skin has an ashen pallor, white hair falling around his shoulders and down to his waist. His teeth are bared in an expression that is part contemptuous grin and part snarl, his eyes wild.

Shiro feels the wolf rear up inside him, the change pulling at him, begging to be released. His nails are already lengthening into claws, digging into the palm of his flesh hand, and he feels the wet trickle of blood drip down his fist to be swallowed up by the dry earth. This vampire is bigger than he is, likely older, too, but he's not bigger than Shiro's wolf.

“Lotor!”

The voice shakes Shiro out of his reverie, as Keith appears behind the other vampire’s shoulder, shoving him out of the way and darting between them, his hands raised. His eyes are wide and dark when they meet Shiro’s and there’s something pleading and desperate in them that makes his wolf relax, to withdraw. He swallows hard and loosens his fists, forcing himself to calm down, to pull himself back from the precipice of the change. He forces his fists to unfurl, his nails retreating back into their beds. The gazes of both vampires track the trickle of blood that winds its way down his fingers, and then Keith's eyes dart back up to his face, wide with astonishment.

"Shiro?" Keith asks cautiously.

"Keith," Shiro grates out, his voice still a little husky as it works its way out of vocal chords still twisted into a shape different than a human’s. "Keith, I need to talk to you."

The other vampire makes a sound like _tch_ from where he stands behind Keith, still looking like he's poised to lunge at any moment. "Yes of course. Because werewolves are so well known for their _negotiating_."

"I'm serious," Shiro says. "I'm not here to… to hunt you, or whatever. I just want to apologize."

Keith is silent for a moment, his gaze assessing. Slowly, he turns to the other vampire behind him, leaving his back exposed to Shiro in a surprising display of trust. "Lotor," he says to his companion, "can you give us a minute?"

"Keith," the other vampire—Lotor—says warningly, his gaze never leaving Shiro. He crosses his arms over his broad chest, his posture suggesting he has no intention of going anywhere.

"It's okay. I can take care of myself."

Lotor finally looks at Keith, his gaze turning assessing. He stares down his nose at Keith until he finally relaxes minutely, unfolding his arms and rolling his eyes theatrically. "I'll just continue in the kitchen, shall I?" Keith nods and Lotor starts back up the steps before turning back to glare at Shiro. "Don't try anything stupid, wolf. You're outgunned and outmanned." He smiles then, flashing pointed canines in a menacing snarl.

He disappears into the house, leaving Keith and Shiro alone. Shiro blinks, half expecting to see a cape flare out behind him. "Is he always like that?"

Keith huffs a startled laugh through his nose. "Like he just wandered casually out of a cheesy vampire movie? Yeah." His eyes are wary but somehow vulnerable as they bore into Shiro's across the space between them. Finally he says, "You're bleeding," gesturing vaguely towards Shiro's hand.

Shiro winces. "Sorry. I'll—" he moves to wipe it on his shirt but Keith darts forward and catches Shiro's wrist in his hand.

"Let me…" Keith tugs gently, moving towards the house. "Just let me."

He's not sure what he expects Keith to do; Pidge would call him an idiot for trusting a vampire to treat an open wound. But Keith hasn't hurt him yet, had even sent his friend away. Shiro swallows hard but nods slowly, following Keith into the house.

He's startled to see the house filled with boxes, some empty and others half-full. "You're moving, again?"

Keith eyes him over his shoulder. "Don't I have to?"

Shiro shakes his head. "No. No you don't." He swallows. "Can we just—talk?"

Keith sighs, and doesn't answer. He leads him to a small bathroom, and Shiro tries not to look too hard at his own reflection staring back at him in the mirror, how Keith has no reflection where it should be blocking his. He roots for a while in the cupboard below the sink, coming up with a roll of bandage and gauze and some kind of disinfectant.

Shiro huffs a laugh. "What do you need disinfectant for?"

Keith shrugs. "My mom used to keep some on hand. She had a… human mate for a long time."

"Your mom?"

"My _maker_," Keith explains, grimacing at the term. "Anyway, it's habit now, to keep this stuff around."

"I thought you were going to lick them clean or something."

Keith looks up at him, a sardonic curve to his smile. "Did you want me to?"

Shiro laughs in spite of himself. "Kind of fast considering we only had one date," he jokes, and then winces. _Stupid_, he chides himself. _Awful time for jokes, Shirogane._

Keith just gives him a look which is carefully blank and a little sad, and starts to clean the crescent-shaped wounds on the palm of Shiro's hand. Shiro winces at the sting of the antiseptic, and Keith murmurs a soft apology, gently placing gauze over the cuts and beginning to wrap bandage around Shiro's palm. His touch is soft, his fingers deft as he moves, and cool against the warmer flesh of Shiro's hand. It should be strange, the cool touch of Keith's skin, but all Shiro can feel is the careful way Keith holds his hand in his.

"I've—" Keith cuts himself off, his mouth twisting as he carefully winds the bandage around and around. "I've _fed_ now. I won't lose control like that again."

"Is that what happened?"

Keith winces. "Yeah." He glances up quickly, a quick flash of eyes so blue and dark they're almost purple. "I don’t know what kind of knowledge your pack has, but I'm old enough I shouldn't lose control like… like what happened at the amusement park." _On our date_, he doesn't say, but the words ring in the air between them anyway.

Shiro nods. That tracks with what he’d been taught. "So why did you?"

"I don't _like_ to feed from humans. To hurt people. It had been a long time. Too long." He looks up again, as he deftly fastens the bandage with tape. To Shiro's surprise, a wry smile turns up the corners of his mouth. "I tried to feed on Halloween, but I ran into some friends of yours. And then I wound up in a cab with you."

Shiro laughs, startled. "So that's why you were eager to share a cab with a stranger just to get home as soon as possible."

Keith nods, drawing back reluctantly to rest his palms against his own thighs. Shiro misses the contact immediately, the places where Keith's fingers had touched tingling pleasantly chill. "I've never… I would never kill anyone, Shiro. My coven and I, we're not that kind of vampire."

"I know," Shiro says, and his newly bandaged hand darts out to clasp Keith's.

Keith huffs a short, cynical laugh, but he doesn't pull away. "How could you possibly know that?"

"You could've killed me that night, when I started to change," he says. "Or tonight; as your friend so kindly reminded me, I'm pretty outnumbered. I think the two of you could probably take me out."

"You'd put up a good fight though," Keith says, his smile turning genuine and teasing, something like hope in his wide, dark eyes.

Shiro laughs, nodding. "I'd go down swinging," he teases back, reaching to take Keith's other hand. "But I trust you. I want to trust you."

Keith is silent for a beat, his eyes falling to where Shiro's hands are curled around both of Keith's smaller ones. "Why?"

"Because I like you," Shiro says quietly. His thumbs skate over the back of Keith's hands, smooth and slow.

"Even though I'm a vampire?"

"Because you're you," Shiro says and Keith looks back up to meet his eyes.

"That was pretty cheesy," Keith says, but he's smiling for real now.

Shiro laughs. "I know. I'm kind of a cheesy guy." He gives Keith's hands a squeeze, leaning in closer. "So what do you say? Will you let me take you on a second date?"

Keith nods, slow and shy and then he's leaning in slowly, his mouth meeting Shiro's between them. This kiss is slow and soft and when his teeth nip at Shiro's bottom lip, they're blunt and gentle. Shiro frees one of his hands, reaching up to curl around the back of Keith's neck and draw him closer until they're kneeling, chests pressed together and Keith's hands clinging to Shiro's broad shoulders.

"Well isn't this lovely."

Shiro jerks back, turning to find Lotor looming in the bathroom doorway. He feels himself flush and loosens his hold on Keith, though not all the way, his hands slipping down to rest on his waist.

One of Lotor's pale eyebrows arches sardonically. "You couldn't wait until I was out of the house to begin this bizarre interspecies mating dance?"

"Lotor," Keith says warningly, but Lotor only waves a dismissive hand, rolling his eyes.

"I suppose this means I can stop packing up your kitchen," he says, turning away from the doorway. "You can unpack yourself though; I'm not your indentured servant."

Keith and Shiro watch him go, and they hear the front door of the house close definitively behind him. They turn shyly back to face one another; the silence is tense and then it breaks, both of them collapsing into helpless laughter. Keith's forehead falls to rest against Shiro's shoulder, his hair tickling where it brushes against Shiro's neck.

"You want some coffee or something?" Keith says, when he can pull away. "I'll unpack the machine again."

"What is a vampire doing with a coffee machine?" Shiro asks, grinning as he reaches a hand out and pulls Keith to his feet.

"I keep it on hand to serve my werewolf dates," he retorts, then looks away. Shiro thinks he would blush, were he capable of doing so. His gaze when he darts a glance at Shiro is shy, but he's smiling.

"Well I don't know about all the rest of them," Shiro says, stoking a thumb over the back of Keith's hand, “but this werewolf would love a coffee."

Keith grins at him and tugs him back out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Come visit on me on twitter @maccachino.


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